


Warlocks Love Depeche Mode

by replicasex



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crack, Depeche Mode - Freeform, Drug Use, Humor, M/M, Magic!Stiles, Pack Fic, Warlocks, no really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-13 04:48:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/820158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/replicasex/pseuds/replicasex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A warlock is plaguing the streets of Beacon Hills.  Well, a warlock's bad taste in music is plaguing the streets of Beacon Hills.  Stiles is the only one who's happy about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warlocks Love Depeche Mode

There’s a warlock in Beacon Hills.  Stiles is considering a number of things, up to and including burning down the entire town.  This kind of bullshit really needs to stop.  If it weren’t enough, apparently the warlock is a washed up 80s wannabe musician who really loves Depeche Mode.  In fact, he loves it so much that he created an amplification spell to broadcast the band’s discography all over Beacon Hills.  The werewolves are close to crying, their poor ears.  

“We’re going to kill whoever did this.”  And Derek really does look angry.  He has the best hearing after all.  

“It’s just some douche who found a spellbook, bet on it.”  Stiles is very sure.  Not that he can do anything like that.  He’s still, like, in training or whatever.  If you can call Deaton staring at him and judging him to be training.  Stiles likes to think of it as character building.

“It’s awful.”  Danny adds.  Guy has a real hate-on for Depeche Mode.  Fucking hipster.

*

It should be a lot harder than it is, is what Stiles is thinking.  They’ve located the source of the music, the unholy caterwauling that’s been going on all day.  The wolves have even been equipped with high tech noise cancelling headphones, courtesy of Jackson’s credit card.  Stiles may or may not have memorized the information.  

It turns out that Stiles was right.  It really should have been harder.  

The warlock gets the drop on them.  Literally.  He drops from the sky.  Like a bat with bad hair and tight pants.  And, Stiles must admit, some really kickass binding spells.  

“Hah!”  The warlock seems kind of high to Stiles.  That’s probably not stereotyping.  Guy’s eyes are all whackadoodle.  “Hah!  If you think a band of mutts can stop the return of real music then --”  Stiles wishes very dearly that he had one of the headphones.  Truth is, he just liked the music.  He feels betrayed, suddenly, by his love of music.  Luckily for Stiles he knows these particular binding spells.  He totally had a copy of _Libro servitutem_ under his floor.  Stiles liked to experiment, go sue him.  

Warlock guy is still on his epic rant.  Stiles hears “The death of all things” and “The return of the music making gods” and he’s pretty sure this guy swallowed one too many mushrooms or something.  Stiles makes a note to never, ever do drugs.  Not even if they make him cool.  Thankfully a cool word and a bit of will is all that’s required to undo the bindings.  

They fall from the trees they were bound to.  The wolves all land on their feet.  Stiles falls on his butt.  

“Ow, ow, ow”  Stiles’ tailbone is not going to feel good tomorrow.  Warlock dude stops his rant, hearing him.  

“How?!”  And the poor guy looks pretty scared.

“Dude.”  Stiles wants to be as dramatic as possible.  “I’m fucking magic.”  

The warlock runs away.

*

It’s an episode of Cops Stiles thinks.  His mother hummed the theme at his father when he came home.  This chase isn’t nearly as comical.

Chasing the Warlock would be a lot easier if the guy didn’t randomly _fly_ when they got too close.  Stiles is going to glare at Deaton so hard for not teaching him.  They try to lead him away from the town but Warlock guy clearly prefers an urban environment.  Stiles is glad, again, that he came clean to his dad about all this bullshit.  Bomb threats make great cover.  No one besides them is going to get hurt by this hopped up leather clad douchebag.  

Stiles is hopeful, because it looks like the guy’s finally running out of juice.  It’s impressive.  Stiles can barely float a pencil before he wants a nap.  That is, until the guy reaches into his pocket and pulls out some very crunchy looking mushrooms.  They’re green and purple.  Shit, Stiles thinks.

“Shit!”  Stiles says.  This is really not good.

“What is it.”  Derek says, he doesn’t even ask.  Wolf has no manners.  “What’s he doing?”

“It’s this, I don’t know, I saw it in a book -- it’s like magic mushroom steroids.”  Stiles is trying very hard to remember what he read.  Reading comprehension is slightly dulled by translating ancient Hungarian.  “It’s shit for you, though.  Burns you out fast.”  That much Stiles remembers.

“How fast.”  Derek really needs to inflect.  “Stiles.”

“Hold on, geez.  I’m trying to remember.”  Stiles really is.  “I think it, like, a chronic problem.  Guy’s probably been taking them for awhile.  No wonder he could put out Depeche Mode through the whole town.”  Derek looks at him.  Right.  The question.  “It’s like normal shrooms I think.  The, uh, high isn’t too long.”  

“He just took the rest he had.”  Jackson interrupts.  “How do we kill him?”  

“Um.”  Stiles responds.  “We probably can’t.  Stuff makes you into a magic-y god.  Like, for real.”  

“For real.”  Lydia snorts.  Leave it to her to lower his self-esteem in a life or death situation.

Then the warlock starts throwing things at them, like an emo X-Man.

*

“I swear to god,”  Danny says, hiding behind a dumpster.  “I am going to punch this queen in the face.”  Danny doesn’t like Depeche Mode, he’s allowed.  

“But it’s a really good albu--” Stiles wants to argue the point, because really, it’s not the band’s fault that some psychopath warlock hopped up on magic mushrooms digs them.  

“Stiles!”  Derek grits out.  He’s a gritter.  He grits.  Stiles giggles.  God this is the dumbest terror they’ve had to deal with in ages.  The bastard has been flinging things at them, Dark Phoenix style.  Stiles is much less sympathetic towards Jean Grey than he used to be.  He’s impressed, though.  That truck looked really heavy.

“How long before this bullshit works out of his system?”  Man, Jackson is so not the person to judge others for doing stupid shit to gain power.  But the warlock had really dinged him with that grocery cart.  He’s probably pissed.

“Give the similarities of the substance to --”  Lydia starts, and really, Stiles shouldn’t find her saying ‘substance’ as sexy as he does.  But Derek interrupts the sexy science monologue.

“Ballpark it!” Derek grits out again.  He’s going to need to see a dentist one of these days, he is.  Stiles briefly wonders if werewolves can regrow teeth.  If they can, that really suggests some interst -- oh, right.  Warlock.

“Probably 30 minutes.” Lydia says.  “Give or take an eternity.”

“Great.”  Scott mutters under his breath.  “Just great.”

“The music is really loud.”  Isaac chimes in, god bless him.  

“Yes, Isaac, it’s loud.”  Getting whammied by a warlock has done nothing to stifle Erica’s sarcasm.  Derek is looking at them all with a very familiar expression.  Stiles calls it his “I’ve made a huge mistake” expression.  It’s one of his favorites.  Then a new wail rises up and Stiles hears the beginning of another Depeche Mode song.

“Goddamn it.”  Danny and Stiles say at the same time.  Derek looks back and forth at them.  

“The song, it’s so fucking cliche.”  Stiles is pretty bitter about this guy’s taste.  “It’s _Suffer Well_ , that fucking asshole.  I’ll never be able to enjoy it again.”  

“Good.”  Danny responds immediately.  And, okay, maybe Danny has better taste than he does.  But Stiles can’t help it.  Depeche Mode speaks to his soul.  Really.  

*

The warlock must have realized his little ‘fling things and hope he squashes you’ plan wasn’t working because Stiles finds himself upside down, staring at magic-douche’s ugly leather shoes.  They are _not_ in good repair.  

“Put.  Him.  Down.”  And yeah, Stiles may get a chill down his spine.  Derek has a way with words.  

“Puppy’s not so nasty when I have his chew toy.”  Stiles rolls his eyes at the guy’s shoes.  Why is it every douchecanoe in this town is a walking cliche factory?  

Derek’s eyes are blood red and he honestly looks pissed.  He’s terrifying, actually, and Stiles is glad they’re working together.  

Then Derek rips off his clothes.  Stiles opens his mouth, ready to shout that he doesn’t think the Warlock swings that way when Derek starts to shift.  Whoa.  It’s the first time Stiles has ever seen Derek shift into the full alpha form.  He didn’t think Derek liked to do it at all.  His control was more instinctual in alpha form.  He couldn’t think much.  Stiles is suddenly very, very afraid.  

*

It turns out that werewolves are excellent jumpers.  They jump.  It’s a thing.  They’re also good at closing their jaws around a floating warlock’s neck mid-air.  Derek even manages to swing Stiles around so he lands on Derek instead of the asphalt.  Stiles is flush with Derek’s belly and a part of him really, really wants to pet it and see if Derek’s tail wags.  But he resists.  For today.

And suddenly it isn’t a wolf’s belly, it’s Derek’s.  A very naked Derek.  His eyes are still red.  He levers them both up.  He doesn’t even need to use his arms, the muscle-y bastad.  He starts groping him -- checking him for injuries, Stiles knows.  Derek has done this a few times before.  It’s always confused him.  

“Stiles.”  Derek is looking right at him, his eyes back to normal.  He looks frightened and angry and very, very sexy.  His hands are on Stiles’ hips.

“Oh.”  Stiles says, because he’s just been hit with several years worth of understanding.  “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”  Derek exhales on his neck.  

Stiles kisses him.  

*

They bring the warlock’s body to Deaton.  Stiles also gets in a good glare while he describes how the warlock flew around like an eagle.  Or maybe it’s more like a blimp.  Either way.  Deaton thanks them and gives Stiles his special little ‘I judge you’ smirk.  Stiles rolls his eyes and kisses Derek in front of him.  He’s been doing that a lot, the spontaneous kissing thing.  Derek doesn’t seem to mind.  

The pack disperses back to their homes, back to their families.  Stiles gives a full report to his dad, who looks both guilty and angry.  Stiles eats a leftover pork chop and goes to his room.  He unlocks the window.  

An hour later Derek casually slips in.  His hands curl around Stiles’ neck, his shoulder.  He kisses the side of Stiles’ neck, the pulse point.  

“Stiles.”  And Derek’s voice sounds rawer than he’s ever heard.  “I was so, so --”

“Yeah.”  Stiles interrupts.  Because he knows.  “Yeah.”  Their foreheads touch.  They kiss.  And Stiles presses a key on his laptop.  

_Come on over_

_Lay down beside me_

_And I’ll try_

_And I’ll try_

_I want it all_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Libro servitutem means 'Book of Bondage'. I don't judge Stiles and neither should you!


End file.
